Half Assed Glass Shower Pane Retard Death Traps

You'd think that in a city where the sun never shines and it rains more than the Bellagio fountains that London has figured out that things almost never dry here. So why, oh why, do we have these half assed shower glass pane retard death traps? You know what I'm talking about, those shower panes that supposedly replaced disposable curtains.

Where before, you get complete coverage, free to act out your favorite scene in Billy Elliot with your razor as your microphone and your rubber ducky as your audience. And now, this panel extends to about 1/3 of the tub, you're self conscious that everytime you lift your arms you've created another wading pool on your obviously moldy carpet. In any other country, if you make a mess of your shower floor, it dries when you come home from work EIGHT HOURS LATER. But no, here, in this lovely London flat right in the heart of yuppie Islington, that puddle is still there, just waiting for you to step in it and slip right into that frosted glass death trap. I can just imagine that stupid pane saying this as my forehead makes the impact: "Ah Hah! You uncouth Americans! Should have just learned to shower like a civilised Brit!"

By the way, in this case, "civilised" really means resigning myself to the north end corner of the tub in a half crouch/half kneel position. And forget about soaping yourself, aren't you still finding pink shower gel foam on the other side of the toilet??

For a country where you can sit and watch cricket for 8 hours a sitting, you 'can't be bothered' to buy a fucking shower curtain rod?? Really?!?